The Immortals
by Lady Aura
Summary: A series of vignettes placing characters from different fandoms into the Highlander universe. Included so far are Stargate: SG1, Stargate: Atlantis, BtVS and The Sentinel. Rated K for language.
1. Stargate

Author's note: This is in no way a single, cohesive story. Rather it's a collection of scenes, in no particular order, that all take place in the same universe. Some scenes will cross two or more shows with Highlander, and some only one, but they all deal with certain characters being Immortal.

Updates will be sporadic but hopefully often. Enjoy!

* * *

Note for this scene: In this universe, Janet did not die in Heroes because Daniel, being immortal, threw himself over her and saved her life.

* * *

"Joe, we have to find him a new Watcher."

Janet leaned back in her chair, holding the phone between her shoulder and her ear, fingers furiously working the keyboard in front of her as she listened to the man on the other end of the line.

"Yes, of course I mean it. You know the top secret stuff I'm involved in; if he's joining the project we need to find someone with clearance to Watch him. I certainly won't be able to, it's difficult enough keeping up with Daniel."

She sifted through personnel files, trying to find a likely candidate.

"There aren't any current Watchers who fit the bill, are there? ….Yeah, wishful thinking. So we're going to have to recruit."

She paused at the record of Dr. Weir, considering, before continuing. Elizabeth would have enough to think about without having to watch an errant Immortal. She sifted through the next few files before hitting upon one that fit.

"Here, Joe. Dr. Carson Beckett, the base's chief physician. I believe he's already friends with our old man. And in a military situation like this, having the Doc be his Watcher may be the best way to go. You know, in case a cover-up is needed. You know how many times I've had to fake Daniel's records."

She smiled as the voice on the line agreed with her.

"Yeah, I'll take care of it. Alright. Thanks, Joe."

She turned to hang the phone up and realized Daniel was standing in the doorway.

"Oh. Hi, Daniel."

"Finding a hound for Riorden?" Daniel asked. Janet made a face at her charge's name for members of her organization and nodded. "Why? It's not likely he's gonna get his head taken in Antarctica."

"If there's any chance at all that they're going to Atlantis, we need someone there to help keep his secret. And, well…we don't know what's out there. You of all people should understand that anything can happen." She waved her hand in the general direction of up.

Daniel nodded. "I hope Jack lets me go."

"He won't."

"I know." Daniel sighed. "But I can always hope." He stared at the floor, deep in thought, before abruptly turning and leaving.

Janet shook her head. Moments like that were the only reminders she had that Dr. Daniel Jackson was much more than the young, enthusiastic linguist the rest of the base knew him to be.

Janet closed down the database window, opened the word processor, and began composing the e-mail that would change Beckett's life.

_Rodney McKay is not what he appears to be._


	2. Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Notes for this scene: Come on, what's the likelihood of there being _two_ secret organizations called the Watchers that have absolutely nothing to do with each other? Not much, I say.

This takes place before Xander loses his eye, and goes AU from there (obviously).

* * *

When Xander woke up, his head was aching something horrible.

Which wasn't so bad, considering he'd thought he had DIED.

"Uuuugh….What happened?" he asked, holding his protesting noggin and looking around. He saw, of all people, Giles, sitting in a chair by the bed, a book in his lap.

"How are you feeling?" Giles asked softly. Xander made a face.

"I just had a near-death experience. How do you think I feel?"

Giles flinched a little bit. Xander, noticing something was wrong, sat up more and looked at him.

"Hey, what's wrong, G-man?"

Giles sighed. "Xander….there's no easy way to tell you this."

Immediately Xander was on his guard. "What?"

"Xander, you _did_ die."

Xander blinked. "Huh? …Did Willow bring me back? I don't remember being in Heaven…" He stopped when Giles shook his head.

"No. You came back by yourself."

Xander just blinked, waiting for an explanation. Giles sighed, resigned, and got right to the point.

"You're Immortal, Xander. From this point on you will never age, and you will live forever unless someone cuts your head off."

"What? Nononono, that can't be right. You're saying I'm possessed? Some kind of demon, or a curse?"

"We don't know what it is, only that it has been this way for as long as even the eldest of us can remember."

Xander was still shaking his head in denial, but at Giles words stopped and regarded the man suspiciously.

"We?"

Giles nodded. "I'm one, as well." He hurried on before Xander could interrupt. "I sensed that you had the potential to become one of us the moment I first met you. Since then I have done my damndest to make sure you got to adulthood before dying your first death. Teenaged Immortals are at a distinct disadvantage." He sighed. "It was hard, keeping this from you. So many times I wanted to treat you differently, or at least talk to you, tell you my own secrets…But I couldn't. Until now."

Xander stared at him for a long while, before cocking his head and stating (rather defiantly) "I don't believe you."

Giles quirked a smile. "Yes, I thought you might not." He closed his eyes for a moment, and suddenly Xander's distant headache became a persistent buzz at the base of his skull.

"Ow!"

"You're feeling my presence, now that I've stopped suppressing it. As a full Immortal, you can sense others of your kind."

Xander glared at him. "How do I know it's not some sort of spell or something like that?"

Giles shrugged. "Why would I lie? But here, if you need more proof." He drew a dagger from a sheath that was sitting on the table next to him and rolled up a sleeve. "Watch closely."

He pressed the point of the dagger a good half-inch into the flesh of his forearm and dragged it a few inches down his arm, cutting deeply into the muscle, face contorted with pain. Xander made a horrified noise, disgusted at the self-mutilation. But he didn't tear his eyes away, and as he watched, small sparks of blue lightning danced over the wound, and it began to close. Within a minute the pale skin was completely unmarked, showing no signs of a scar.

"If I were to do the same to you, it would also close, though not as fast. Would you like to try?" He offered the knife.

Xander shook his head vehemently. "You're crazy." But Giles just quirked an eyebrow, his hand unmoving. After a moment, Xander accepted it.

Gingerly, Xander made a shallow cut in his palm. Nowhere near as deep or harmful as the wound in Giles' arm had been, the cut closed over in a matter of seconds.

Xander looked up at Giles, eyes wide. Giles smiled at him.

"Now do you believe?"

Xander just blinked. "How old are you, really?"

"A little over two thousand. I was born in 63 BC, in Rome."

Xander set the knife down, his eyes not leaving Giles' face. "Two thousand…What was your name? I doubt they called you Rupert back then."

Giles snorted a little. "No, indeed. My given name is Benedictus. I've gone by Benedict in most of my identities in this century – it was only recently, when I moved to America, that I changed my name."

Xander gave him a look. "And you chose _Rupert_?"

Giles gave him a look. "Having spent the last 200 years in England, I thought it would be easier than getting rid of my accent."

Xander laughed at him for a moment, then grew silent. Giles let him think all of it through.

"Giles? Er, Benedictus, whatever. Does anyone else know?"

Giles smiled, sort of sadly. "No. And they can't know. Not unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Why?"

"Because the Watchers can't ever know." Seeing Xander's confusion, Giles explained. "There's a sect of the Watchers that specifically studies Immortals. They broke off centuries ago, soon after I died my first death – around the birth of Jesus of Nazareth. To them, Benedictus of Rome was killed in World War One when a freak accident with a rookie pilot and a Sopwith Camel accidentally took off his head." Xander made a disgusted face. "At the time, I already knew about the Watchers, even though they're never supposed to let Immortals know about them. My Watcher at the time was a close friend, a fellow soldier in the trenches. He died in the fighting, and to make sure no one ever had to follow me into war again, I faked an entry in his journal that stated that I had been killed."

Xander looked at him thoughtfully.

"You've been through a lot."

"Yes. I have. And you're destined to follow the same path."

"Well." Xander stood and stretched. "Then I had better get some breakfast."


	3. Stargate SG1

Note for this scene: Closely tied to episodes 8-19 and 8-20, Moebius pts. 1 and 2. Immortalityplus time travel equals confusing.

* * *

Daniel was practically dancing with excitement.

Janet smiled at him over her glass. She hadn't seen the old man this thrilled for a long time. This sort of wonder was generally reserved for the discovery of a new friendly race; the last time she'd seen him like this was when they'd first discovered the Asgard for what they really were.

"Janet, none of this can go in your chronicle."

"Understood. But if it's that important a secret, why tell me at all?"

"Because this is so amazing, I have to tell SOMEONE."

Janet took a sip of her brandy and studied him. "Does this have to do with the ancient videotape they uncovered in Egypt?"

"Yes. It solves a mystery that's been bugging me for _years_ now."

He sat down, took a deep breath to steady himself, and then launched into the tale with a gusto.

"You know that when I was on Abydos, I found the cartouche room."

"Yes…?"

"Well, what I didn't tell anyone was that the carvings in the cartouche room were made by _me_."

"What?" Janet stared at him. "How is that possible? Heck, how did you _know_?"

"Because I signed it. 'Daniel of Earth, born a child of Abraham in the land of the Chosen People in the year 896 BC.' Underneath I carved an ankh for eternal life. As to how it was possible, well, that was what I didn't understand – until today."

"Of course." Janet breathed. "The tape."

Daniel nodded. "On it I left a short message for myself, in the Abadonian dialect of Egyptian. I – he – told me that he didn't want to risk there being two of us alive on the same planet at once." He took a sip of his own drink. "He knew that I'd be born in a couple thousand years, and at that time there were so few Immortals running around that there was an excellent chance he'd still be alive. He must have joined Ra's court and been shipped off-world before the rebellion. I don't know how long it took him to do it, but he must have gone around collecting Stargate addresses for years before he finally settled on Abydos and carved the map. He wouldn't have had to correct any of the addresses, knowing Carter would be able to do it for him. And he knew that only I would be able to both read and understand the signature." Daniel stared into his drink thoughtfully. "You know, that's why Sha're trusted me? Because my name was Daniel."

"She'd read it in the cartouche room?"

"Yeah. Daniel was a sacred name to them, reserved - they never used it for their children. So when they realized my name was Daniel, and that I had come through the Chappa'ai, and that I was not one of their gods, well…I guess they sort of saw it as a sign. Then when we managed to kill Ra…" He trailed off.

"But, Daniel…You're not going back in time this time. Doesn't that mean the cartouche should have ceased to exist?"

He rubbed his head. "I asked Sam about that. Apparently, whenever someone goes back in time, they create an alternate reality. So this timeline can't be changed – if I were to go back in time, I would create an entirely different world. And frankly, there are so many alternate timelines out there that I can't let myself care about any of them but this one." He sighed and swallowed another gulp of brandy. "Unless this one gets so unbearably screwed up that it's worth it to create a new one in the hopes it will be better."

"Lets hope it never gets that bad." Janet said. Daniel smiled.

"I'll drink to that."


	4. The Sentinel

Note for this scene: In the very first episode, Blair cites Sir Richard Burton as discovering tribesmen with enhanced senses and coining the term "Sentinel".

* * *

The lecture was to be given by a Dr. Adam Pierson. The subject was "Culture and Day-to-Day Life in Ancient Egypt."

It would be amusing, at least, to see how close this lecturer came. The last one to give a similar presentation had missed the mark by a mile.

Blair Sandburg grinned to himself as he made his way across campus to the auditorium. This was the sort of thing that kept him coming back to academia, even after three thousand years. Watching humanity and its perception of itself change was the most fascinating work he had ever known, and he got an enjoyment out of it that kept him from becoming world-weary.

Blair picked his way across the rows of chairs, finding his favorite spot right in the center of the lecture hall. He pulled out his notebook, ready for observation.

The buzz hit him just as he pulled out his pen. He looked up sharply, blue eyes searching for the source.

There. Just entering the stage was the man he assumed was the lecturer.

_Dr. Pierson is immortal? This might be more interesting than I thought._

Then, obviously sensing his own presence, the good Doctor turned and scanned the crowd. Blue eyes met brown and both grew wide.

After the lecture, Blair approached the stage, the air of a eager student masking his nervousness.

"Dr. Pierson? My name is Blair Sandburg. The research I'm doing calls on some of the sources you cited and I was wondering if you had time to discuss a few things with me?"

Pierson spared a quick glance for the people milling around the room.

"Sure. I was just about to go get some lunch – would you care to join me?"

Blair grinned wide and nodded. "Just let me get my coat. I'll meet you outside?"

Pierson nodded, returning the smile as he turned to pack up his presentation.

Outside the auditorium, they kept up the farce for a few yards – just until they turned the corner. Then Pierson pulled Blair into a swift, hard hug.

"Imhotep," he whispered. He pulled away and held his former student at arms length, looking him over. "You haven't changed a bit. What in God's name are you doing studying at a backwater university like Ranier?"

"Watching to see how badly they mess up the histories. Man, Methos, it is _good_ to see you alive and snarky. It's been, what, a century? You dropped off the face of the planet!"

Methos laughed as they turned towards a little outdoor student café on the edge of the campus.

"I come out of hibernation once or twice a decade, if only to restock my beer. Tell me, kid, what are you up to these days? Other than making life hell for your professors."

Imhotep grinned, bouncing a little as he walked. "You'll never believe this."

Methos gave him a look. "After 5000 years? Try me."

"Alright. Remember the research I was doing when we last met, in the late 1800's?"

"Vaguely. You were calling yourself Burton then, as I recall. Researching myths about some sort of tribal watchman?"

"Yeah. At the time I was in Africa – knighted by Queen Victoria, no less – studying tribal structure. I noticed many tribes had a watchman with enhanced senses. Sight, hearing, or smell, usually. Well, I'd been trying to figure out what could cause such a thing. When the human genome was discovered, I decided it must be genetic. It took years of research but I've finally tracked down a full-fledged Sentinel."

"And now that you've found him, you've latched on with both hands and your teeth. That explains why you're out here instead of in a city with a higher life expectancy."

"Yeah, well. I think I'm going to have to tell him the truth about me at some point. He's family, now – soon he's gonna wonder why I never grow old. Or I might get myself killed in front of him again – "

"Now how did you manage that?"

"Got myself drowned. New one, for me, and not something I'd care to experience again – give me a bullet any day. Fortunately Jim went all hero on me and performed CPR; officially that's what brought me back." He sighed as they sat down at their table. "Unofficially, he managed some sort of mystical Sentinel thing that revived me a lot faster than normal. If he hadn't, I'd have been dead for a couple hours at least. And then I would have woken up in a morgue, and would have had to pick up and leave everything behind, _again_, and lose my life's work."

"Sounds pretty crazy. What are you getting into that would lead you to be drowned?"

They stopped for a moment as the waitress approached, and gave her their drink orders. She turned and left and they resumed their conversation, albeit in a quieter tone.

"Jim works with the Cascade PD. Major Crimes, not Homicide, thank god – I could just imagine having to investigate my own won challenges – but as his Guide he needs me to be able to control his senses so I'm out in the field a lot. It's…different. It sort of feels nice to be out doing something physical, besides fighting for my life every once in a while."

"Yeah – I know what you mean."

The conversation continued through soup and sandwiches, and it was nearly an hour before Methos looked at his watch and sighed.

"Imhotep, I'd better go. Plane's leaving in an hour."

The younger man pouted a little, something which he knew got his teacher every time. Methos rolled his eyes and quickly scribbled an address on a napkin.

"Here. My friend owns this bar – if you want to get a hold of me in the next few years, he'll probably know where I am. Use this alias, or my true name – he knows both – and tell him you're an old student of mine."

He laid out a couple of bills to cover his half of the tab and clasped Imhotep's hand warmly.

"Watch your head, kid. I wanna run into you again next century."

* * *

The response to this little series was much greater than I anticipated – thank you so much, you guys!

Despite my one flamer/spammer (yes, one, I was informed that Malefica and Samael were in fact the same person) I have no intention of stopping or changing this series in any way. To be frank, I didn't think _anyone_ would read this – the fact that so many of you have and are showing your support makes me really happy. And I'm not going to bother blocking said flamer – if s/he was really serious in their complaints s/he would not be so obnoxious about it. My guess is that s/he's doing this for their own amusement, and not out of actually being offended. Therefore, I will continue to be amused by the flames, should they continue to be hurled.

A couple of people have asked if I'm going to make these into full-blown stories. The answer is probably not – if only because I have four other works-in-progress going right now (two here and two on Fictionpress), plus college, work, and, yanno, my social life. But if someone else wants to take one of these scenes – or hell, all of them – and run with it, that'd be fine with me. Just make sure you send me a link!


	5. Angel and Stargate

AN: I like Lindsey _far_ too much to let him stay dead. (I need a female in here somewere, don't I?)

* * *

With a deep, gasping intake of breath, Lindsey's eyes snapped open.

_Oh, great,_ he thought. _Here we go again._

He's betrayed the Senior Partners, yet again, and got himself shot for his troubles – by Lorne, no less; a demon he had actually liked and trusted. Which meant he had one of two fates in store for him. The Senior Partners might show rare leniency on their favored operative and relocate him, as they had done dozens of times since that fateful day two hundred years ago when he had so very stupidly signed away his Immortal life. Or – and this was much more likely – they were fed up with years of his side-switching and would cast him into another hell dimension, where he could suffer twice as much torment as those who had died normal deaths. Torment of the body _and_ the soul. Turns out Hell was that much more hellish if you still had a physical body. Who would have guessed?

The man who had recently been Lindsey McDonald groaned and pulled himself up. He was so, so sick of this crap. He wanted things to be as clear-cut as they had seemed before his first death – fight for freedom, for Liberty, all that Revolutionary rot. Joseph Cook of South Carolina had died fighting for Liberty. That man was one he barely recognized as himself. Since then things had become more and more confusing, coming to a head in the Civil War. Drafted by the Union to fight for the state of Pennsylvania that he had lived in for fifty years, Joseph had found himself torn between the cause he knew to be right and the survival of the South he loved. He'd tried to escape then – by signing a contract. In exchange for working for what seemed to be a powerful but upstanding law firm, his Immortality would be protected and he would be removed from the Game. No being could learn of his identity, by natural or supernatural means, unless he chose to tell them – and he was contractually obligated not to tell anyone. Only the Senior Partners and their immediate underlings knew.

"It's your age," Holland had said. Lindsey had longed to slap that falsely paternal smile off of the man's face. But he hadn't known. No one knew. Not Lilah, who never knew she had never had a chance at that promotion. Not Darla, though she had wondered why he didn't fear death. Not even Lorne, though he could read Lindsey's soul as if it was a book.

It suddenly occurred to Lindsey that he didn't have much time. A glance at the clock showed that he'd been out for only about an hour; the Senior Partners would still be busy with Angel and his little group of do-gooders. He needed to get the ingredients for the veiling spell, get the tattoos, _again_, and get the hell out of Dodge. He was done. This time for real.

Angel. Of this whole mess, the way his relationship with the ensouled vampire had developed was his biggest regret. There was a kindred spirit – someone who had lived as long, had suffered moral conflict and bouts of both good and evil, had loved and lost. Someone who would understand, maybe even be able to help.

He'd tried that route, of course. That had lead to another moment of weakness, which lead to the loss of his hand. Still, he thought that if he could make the vampire understand…well, perhaps another day. They had time on their side.

Unless they didn't. Unless Angel was dead.

_Focus._ Lindsey thought to himself. Time to get going.

Moving quickly and silently, Lindsey made his way out of the bloodstained building and to his truck, parked down the street. His suitcase was still inside, packed and ready to go, and a temporary identity with it. Edward Rutledge. The name was something of a joke – Rutledge had been the representative from South Carolina, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, and Joseph's childhood hero.

He was Edward from now on.

_I think I'll go by Ned._

Reaching into his glove compartment, newly named Ned pulled out an envelope without a letter. The letter itself had been burned soon after he had received it; he'd been in hiding at the time and wanted no paper trail. He didn't need the letter, anyway; he'd read it over and over until it was memorized. It was from his mentor, Riorden, an Immortal who had about as much patience for the Game as Joseph himself had.

He'd found a way out. That was what the letter had said – he'd found a way out. So far out that he couldn't be contacted unless you had some very specialized knowledge.

If you ever get sick of all of this, contact Daniel. He's one of the eldest of us, and a good man. He'll know how to help you.

The words echoed in his head, as if he'd memorized them from Riorden's voice and not lines of type on a plain piece of paper. Riorden, who was himself nearly a millennium older than Joseph had been, born in Ireland in the Middle Ages. Riorden, who had devoted his considerable life to science ever since the Enlightenment, who was now considered one of the smartest people in the world. Who was now going by Dr. Rodney McKay, Canadian astrophysicist. Such high-profile identities were abnormal for an Immortal, but Riorden had heard of _something_ he wanted to be a part of and created Rodney to be his ticket in. Whatever that something was, it must have been worth it, because it got Riorden out of the game.

Ned fingered the worn edges of the envelope, running his fingers over the return address, stuck on with a little label that bore the American eagle in the corner.

Dr. Daniel Jackson

_c/o The United States Air Force, NORAD_

_Cheyanne Mountain_

1 Mountain Dr, CO, 47820

A quick stop to Gary's, then, for supplies, then once the ritual was complete and the tattoos covered his body once more, he was off to Colorado.


End file.
